


Song of the Nightingales

by Lidsworth



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dysfunctional Family, Elrond does what he can to comfort him, Fluff and Angst, Maedhros has awful nightmares, repost because i fucked up at first, which is a lot actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 02:17:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8647843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: While Maglor and Elros are away, a young Elrond attempts to calm Maedhros during one of his nightmares.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saurgristiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saurgristiel/gifts).



> I’m getting worse and worse at summaries. Anyway, this was a tumblr request and it has been long overdue. I reposted this because I completely misread the request and got super nervous, but in the end it turned out find! So I hope you all like it as well!  
> Also, check me out on [tumblr](http://inkstranger.tumblr.com/)

Elrond had fallen ill that morning. Incredibly ill. For winter had crept upon their small dwelling sooner than expected, and her icy fingers found themselves coiled around Elrond’s throat, freezing his body to the bone.

He had underestimated his mannish blood once again, forgoing his extra blankets and neglecting to light the fire in his bed room. Elros, ever the man in training, had done the exact opposite.

Thus his twin woke healthy and strong, and eager to join Maglor on his monthly trip to the city. Elrond had been anticipating this journey as well, but seeing as he was chilled to the bone (Only he wasn’t chilled. He was burning. Maglor had said this rather animatedly earlier that day, as he ran about the fortress carrying a large basin of water into Elrond’s bedroom and forcing the half-elf’s feat into the boiling hot liquid).

The Peredhel had been beyond disappointed. He loved going into the human village and exploring their markets. It was the only opportunity that he had where he could buy his books of lore and healing, as well as other things that he found necessary to have around their home.

Not to mention, Maglor sang the entire way, and getting lost in his tales of Valinor and other places of grandeur was an enlightening experience that Elrond loathed to miss out on.

So when the time came for the younger Feanorian and Elros to leave, Elrond swallowed a sob and a sniffle as his twin and Maglor mounted their horses, waving goodbye to both he and Maedhros as they began making their way towards the human village.

He took comfort in the soothing hand that Maedhros placed on his shoulder, smiling at the gentle squeeze that followed.

“Let us get you to bed, little one,” Maedhros spoke calmly as he rubbed circles in the small of Elrond’s back, guiding him into their cold fortress, “You will catch your death if stand out here waiting for them to return. I will light your fire for you, and bring you some extra blankets. Then I will go see how far the healer has progressed with your medicine.”

Elrond wanted to protest. He would much rather read in the library until they returned than be sentenced to bed so early. But his eyes had grown droopy with every step he took, and his legs felt heavy as lead while Maedhros carefully guided him to his bedroom.

Not to mention, his foster father’s voice, so flat and monotone, spoken as if he read his thoughts from a script, did little to keep the young elfing awake. By the time he reached the comfort of his bed, he was not sure if he made it there on his own, or if Maedhros carried him the rest of the way.

Though he smiled softly as he felt the heavy blanket fall on his bed and was positively beaming when Maedhros placed a gentle, chaste kiss atop of his forehead.  

“Goodnight Elrond, sleep well,” spoke the Feanorian, “I will return when your medicine is ready, though I doubt it will be until the morning.”

“Good night Maedhros! Thank you for the blankets and the fire.” Elrond had not even noticed that the flames had been lit, not until the tongues had caused dark shadows to dance like devils on Maedhros’s scarred face, giving him the appearance of what some would consider a monster.

Though Elrond had grown past the stage of irrational fear towards the Sons of Feanor, and had instead looked at his father in pity. Maedhros looked sad, sadder than usual.

“Will you sleep with me? I can sing to you,” Elrond chimed in suddenly, sitting up against the head board and looking high at the tall Feanorian, “Maglor says I have a wonderful voice even if I don’t pay attention during his lessons, and can even put elves like you to sleep. I can sing you a song if you’d like.”

Maedhros chuckled, and Elrond nearly grinned at the noise. He managed to coax a smile out of Maedhros.

“Child, your voice can put more than elves to sleep,” spoke Maedhros with a hint of amusement, “But I must decline your offer. I have much to do and will not disturb you with my candlelight. I will see you in the morning, young one.”

Elrond pouted as his father turned to leave, only eliciting another laugh and a ruffle on his hair from the redhead. At least he had managed to make him happy, if even for a moment.

But the sadness never lessened, not even as Maedhros left the room. It hung onto him like a second skin—a thicker skin.

                                                                                                --

Elrond woke with a jolt as a vicious cry bounced of off the long walls of the corridor. He heard screaming.  Loud screaming. As if someone was being tortured by Morgoth himself.

Then he realized, someone had been tortured by him. Years ago, yes. But the pain had disappeared little, and still haunted the said elf in his day to day actions.

All feelings of fatigue and illness had seem to flee Elrond as the screaming grew louder, eventually morphing into a series of begs and pleas. With little thought or hesitation, the half-elf  threw the thick blanket off of his body, and bolted out of his room and into the dark hallway, occasionally tripping on his feet and bumping into a wall he hadn’t seen.

The closer he got towards the room, the more painful the screams became.

Elrond’s eyes stung with sorrow as he imagined what torment his father had been put through, enough for his time in that place to haunt him in his dreams.

He was a cocoon of sweat and sheets by the time Elrond came into the bedroom, fighting the fabric that wrapped around him and screaming loudly into the air as if the thralls of Angband were in the room with him.

“Father! Father! Please wake up, there is no one here,” Elrond shook the Feanorian violently, shook him so hard that the bed trembled with great ferocity. He hated seeing Maedhros like this. It was so disturbing and depressing all at once, that the sheer emotion of it overwhelmed him. The protector of his house, the elf he had looked upon like a father, had just broken like glass in front of him. He was so different from the warrior that fought on the field, from the lord who commanded both elves and men.

He was broken and Elrond felt like crying.

It was usually Maglor who had played this role. That’s why, he supposed, that he and Elros had never once heard him break like this (Elrond recalled late evenings, in which Maedhros had been woken by a night terror, and he and his twin would stare and listen for Maglor’s soft footsteps to echo down the hallway until he arrived in his brother’s room, efficiently silencing him).

But with the second son of Feanor absent, the role fell on Elrond.

Maedhros woke with bloodshot eyes that pierced through the darkness like a white hot knife. Elrond gasped as the red gaze fell upon him, brows knitted in confusion as the Feanorian fought to discern whether or not the small elf was friend or foe.

Eventually, friend won over.

“E—Elrond?” Stuttered the elf, as he sat up straight against the headboard, looking frantically around the room for his phantom assaulters.

“I am here Ada. It was just a dream,” Elrond muttered softly, as he hopped onto the bed himself and pulled the tall redhead into a hug, “Just a dream. Nothing more.”

He seemed to relax held protectively in Elrond’s embrace, and allowed himself deflate just slightly, so that his head rested against the child’s small chest.

Elrond ran his fingers through the fiery mane, humming softly as he did so.  Dry tears itched his face as he sang, though he smiled with the knowledge that his words had such a calming effect.

“Will you tell me what happened?” He asked after some time, when he was certain that Maedhros had settled down, “Talking always helps.”

Maedhros seemed all too willing to comply, though as he opened his mouth to speak, all that he could muster was a strangled sob.

Immediately Elrond’s heart dropped to his stomach, as his father struggled to gather himself once again. He had not meant to upset him. He had believed that talking things out usually helped—that’s what Maglor did to them when they had bad dreams.

But apparently it was not so. Not for Maedhros at least.

He started again. Crying and trembling as if he were wrapped in a cage rather than a loving embrace. Elrond gulped. What if he mistook him for an orc—or worse, Morgoth? The scenarios that played out in his mind were endless, and neither did he prefer.

Elrond knew that he had to do something, for both Maedhros’s sake and his.

Obviously asking him to speak about it would not work, it only reopened aching wounds.

Then he recalled his previous offer. Had he not suggested serenading his father to sleep? At this he remembered his old conversation with Maglor in hopes that it would grant him the confidence he needed.

He and Elros had once proclaimed that Maglor was the best singer that they had ever heard. So powerful was he that he could rock the twins to sleep, no matter how awake they were.

At that, he had laughed and told them tales of the first age, of Luthien and Beren, and how her voice had put to sleep Morgoth himself. He had also told them that they hailed from her lineage, and while his voice was great, they could potentially be the next great singers of the Noldor.

Elros hated singing though. And Elrond liked reading. Neither took Maglor’s offer seriously, so neither honed their skills as he would have liked. They attended small lessons here and there, but nothing big.

And well…now Elrond wished he had been slightly more attentive during those.

But with what little instructions he had remembered from Maglor, he closed his eyes, and began to sing.

It was awful at first, his voice cracked in place it shouldn’t have and his face darkened with shame. Though before he knew it, he had carried out a soft, gentle tune.

Below him Maedhros stilled, and Elrond feared what thoughts raged through the Feanorain’s mind. He had read about this before—the fight of flight instinct—though he knew not which action Maedhros had opted for.

That is, until he heard a small snore coming from the elf.                 

He almost choked on his giggles at the sound! Had he not been so taken aback and in the middle of a song, he would have laughed out loud.

When the breathing became steady, and he was certain that Maedhros had fallen into a deep sleep, Elrond stopped singing. He cleared his throat, unaware of how positively long he’d been singing. Though dry throat aside, it was worth it.

With a smile, he settled Maedhros onto the bed, with his head resting on the pillow. And ever so slowly, he followed after, lowering himself onto the mattress and next to his father.  

**Author's Note:**

> This has given the most trouble when it comes to posting, seriously. I almost gave up.  
> Hope you enjoyed it! Please tell me what you think :) I live off of your feedback!


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